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You, as precious and perceptive readers of this blog, will have noticed how windy it’s been of late. You know only too well. That is, of course, if you are in the UK.

It has played havoc with my hairdo…

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Not that you’d notice.

Had a go at ripping my car door off its hinges and swung my TV aerial round a full 180 degrees. Considering this was held by three wire stays and numerous magnets, was no mean feat.

What you may not know is that four trees have fallen into my little river over the last few days, at least two of which have blocked the navigation. Fortunately, none has done damage to boats/people, not that I know of anyway.

What a nightmare. One that I have, yet again, escaped by the skin of my teeth.

In case you didn’t know, I moor beneath a very old, fragile looking willow. One that looks like it would fall over if I exhaled sharply in its vicinity. One that disintegrates when pushed against as Hobo leaves her mooring, and one that creaks in the wind at the best of times.

It’s more wobbly than whomping…

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But, against all the odds, it remains upright.

When I say upright…

As upright as its ever been in all my years of living underneath it. We (that’s the royal variety) do what we can to keep it from being top-heavy, as you can see here.

One the whole, I don’t like the wind. Not if I’m outdoors. But if I’m all cosy inside, I love to watch its effects on the water, the plant life, wildlife and the clouds. I like that it rocks the boat, making windchimes out of my hanging utensils and the crystals in the window sway and sparkle. It reminds me of how safe I feel (despite the threat of my feeble tree) and gently rocks me to sleep.

This year’s wonderful summer has come to an end and we’ve slipped into autumn, even though my diary tells me it doesn’t become official until the 23rd.

The autumn equinox…

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Nights are drawing in already, leaves are beginning to fall and it’s all downhill from here. There’s definitely a whiff of wood smoke in the air – there is around my boat anyway. I’m not one to tough it out till it’s ‘acceptable’ to light one’s fire. The first hint of a chill in the air and the old Morso gets fried up.

And yes…

It’s blazing away now.

I’m mostly only burning those 99p a pop faux logs at the mo, usually more than enough to take the pain out of a chilly morning/evening. Last night though, I did add a proper chunky real log – one foraged by the John last year – and regretted it a couple of hours down the line, having to open doors/hatches to avoid overheating/paint blistering!

We’re not yet at that burning 24/7 stage and, hopefully, I’ll miss most of that.